


Old Wounds

by Empatheia



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Future Fic, Intoxication, Reconciliation, Scarkissing, scar kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Empatheia
Summary: Two ways Alvin might have apologized for the scar he gave her.
Relationships: Alvin/Leia Rolando
Kudos: 2





	1. SUGAR

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's an odd one for you: I wrote this fic twice because I wasn't sure how I wanted to approach it (technically three times, but the third definitely didn't work). After the fact, I couldn't decide which tack I liked better and shelved it in my WIP folder for a few years. Returning to it now, I'm still not sure, so I'm just going to give you both, one after the other.
> 
> SUGAR: emotional reconciliation, WAFF  
> SPICE: mild D/s smut
> 
> Spice picks up around where Sugar left off, almost like a sequel, but it does retread some of the same ground.

Leia stumbled out of Trigleph's night district with her arm around Alvin's waist, more to keep herself — and him, for that matter — upright than out of any desire to be this close to him.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Sure, they had history, but the worst of it was buffered now by everything they'd been through together on their _second_ journey to save the world. What ghosts could possibly come up after all of that burying?

Apparently, time might heal all wounds, but it didn't heal the memory of them.

Alvin was silent above her, his regret rolling off him like the smell of his sweat in the close summer air. More humid than it used to be, now that natural balance was being restored. More alive.

She wrestled with herself. Hadn't she forgiven him already? Hadn't she decided to let this lie until it turned to dust? Why was it all of a sudden like it had only happened yesterday?

Ex Machina was a vicious friend, the kind that peeled off one's skin in layers until the heart was laid bare.

It hadn't ever been a good idea.

"Here we are," Alvin murmured after what felt like hours of walking through gathered shadows, driven into the corners of the city by the harsh glare of the streetlights. He favoured them, always uncomfortable when illuminated.

Before them rose the dim bulk of her apartment block, all the cheerful yellow drained out of its paint job by the low light. It looked sallow and sickly. Much like she felt.

She wasn't ready to go inside. The air in there would be stale, as she'd closed the windows against the heat before leaving that morning. Stale and thin and nauseating. No, better to stay out where the fitful witching hour breezes blew. Better to stand here, leaning on the railing, looking out over the city she'd made her own.

Rieze Maxia's child, devoted to telling the story of Elympios. She hadn't foreseen it. No one had, because no one could. A whole world unfurling to their eyes after generations in a bubble. A gasping wasteland on the brink of death, but clinging to that brink with the determination of steel. How she loved this awful, miserable land. How she yearned to see it made beautiful again.

"Will you be all right from here?" Alvin asked uncertainly.

He was still standing too close, at her side with a hand on her back. He was looking out over the city, not down at her. She could feel the same grief and yearning within him. How hard he'd fought to come home, even when home was wheezing its last breath out into the desert wind.

Leia inhaled it all, the city and his love and her own frustrated, betrayed fury, and then she breathed it out.

"It still hurts, you know," she said, instead of answering his question.

He went still for a moment, then sighed miserably. "I'm sure it does," was all he said. No more apologies, because she'd made it quite clear that they didn't help.

Turning so that her back was to the railing, she fumbled at her jacket and the thin shirt beneath. "It didn't heal very well. See?"

Sinking to his knees, he drew close enough to squint at the skin of her midriff in the lamplight.

"It's hard to see in the dark," he said, "but this is it, right?" He swept a thumb across the coin-sized lump of twisted, pinkish flesh some four inches to the right of her navel.

Caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the touch, she shivered and sucked in an involuntary swift breath.

Alvin froze. "Sorry," he said, "I should've—"

"No," she said, interrupting. "No, it's okay. You just— I was just startled, that's all. It's okay."

He remained still a moment longer, looking up at her, looking for lies in her face. Then he nodded, an almost imperceptible movement, and brushed her scar again.

She was ready for it this time, but a shiver still rippled through her again.

Something changed in Alvin's presence. The shadows around him seemed darker, and he felt somehow... heavier, as if he were more _here_ than he had been a moment ago.

Bringing his other hand up to brace himself on her waist, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her scar with a surety that he had no right to feel. His lips were warm on it, the soft breath from his nose warm and damp.

Leia's knee, undermined by alcohol, faltered. She caught herself on the railing by her elbows, just barely, but couldn't seem to regain her balance.

Alvin wasn't letting go. Instead, he had curved that second arm around her to hold her steady, his big hand still splayed across her midriff with his thumb pressing lightly near a ticklish spot, and he had opened his mouth to lave her scar with his tongue. As if trying to wash it away, like an animal cleaning its fellow's wounds.

Suddenly, she going up in flames from the inside out, heat racing from the point of contact through her limbs until her head itself was clouded. Thoughtless, grasping, she reached out and buried her fingers in his hair, holding him hard against her as she shuddered.

His hand found the edge of her jacket and began to creep up beneath it, callused fingers on the smooth skin of her back.

"It still hurts," she whispered, "because I'm not sure there won't be something else someday you'll want badly enough to shoot me again."

Alvin went still, tense as a drawn wire. Then he pulled away a little bit, not letting go, just far enough that he could look up at her and let the nearest streetlamp shine on his face. Illuminated. Visible. She could _see_ him, and therefore she could see what he wanted her to know.

"Never again, Leia," he said, raw and miserable, every wound on his guilt-ridden soul as visible as those on his skin. "I'd shoot myself first."

For a long moment, she looked down into his eyes, took the measure of those ugly, festering scars, and of the pain below that had driven them to make them upon himself even as he made them on her.

She believed him.

It was like taking off her bag at the end of the day and realizing how much it had weighed, how much she had thoughtlessly stuffed into it while in the course of living her life. It wasn't just Alvin's betrayal. It was all her uncertainty about their choices, all her guilt about all the choices she had made wrongly both on her own and in consensus with them, for all the harm that had come from those choices. It was her grief and pain over those they'd lost that could have been saved: Cline, the Chimeriad, fractured Milla, the _real_ Milla and Muzet, Ludger, a dozen others. Everything that had hurt her on those journeys had gotten all tangled up with the biggest snag inside of her, and with the dissolving of that knot everything else was coming undone all at once.

She gave up on staying upright and let herself sink down to the ground, back against the railing, and cried like her heart was breaking. It wasn't; it was _healing_ from every break she hadn't acknowledged was already there. The difference was mostly academic. Either way, it hurt.

"I think maybe this was a bit overdue," Alvin said, wry and gentle. "Come here. I won't do anything."

With a gasping sob, she threw herself into him, not bothering to aim. He caught her easily; he was so much better at holding his liquor than she was, and that was partly because he was just so much _bigger_ than her. He accepted her weight without flinching, wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"It's too big for us, isn't it," he commented, without really seeming to expect an answer. "Even us adults couldn't really handle it. It was so unfair to ask it of you."

"I'm not a kid," she mumbled into his chest, pain momentarily blunted by indignation.

He chuckled. "Not anymore, no. You were in the beginning, though. So were Jude, and obviously Elize. Even Milla was a child in her own way, new to life and living. We were mostly children, and we pulled it off, but I don't think even those of us who survived really made it out intact."

She couldn't argue that. There were scars on her insides, too; much like his, if for different reasons. It was such a relief to admit — even wordlessly — that she wasn't all right.

This beautiful new life she'd built for herself was real. Every triumph she earned meant the world to her. Overall, she was in a good place; she was happy, she was successful, she was safe.

Even so.

"All right, hang on," said Alvin. "Up we go." With very little effort, he hoisted her up off the cooling ground and settled her against his chest.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, unprotesting, and let him carry her into her apartment building and up to her door. There, he set her down so she could locate her keys and open the door.

Then there was an awkward moment where neither of them was sure what to do next.

"I guess I should, uh, head home," Alvin said, scratching the back of his head the way he did when he was feeling embarrassed or on the spot.

Leia furrowed her brow and looked at him. It didn't hurt to do so. She could hear the echoes of her pain rumbling around inside her still, but it didn't hurt the way it had. She liked that.

"No," she said, and gave him a slightly lopsided grin. "Come in and crash on the couch. If you wake up on time, I'll make you breakfast."

Hesitating, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "If you're okay with that...?"

She rolled her eyes. "Get in here, meathead, before I shut the door in your face and let you walk home alone."

Hastily, he did as ordered, politely shucking his shoes at the door. As it clicked shut behind him, something shifted again.

He was in her space. Not on the liminal threshold between, but unquestionably _in_ it, with her.

"The couch is over there," she said, trying and probably failing not to blush.

Alvin snorted. "I know. I have been here before, you know." He had, but never by himself, and certainly never in the middle of the night. It was different and he knew it.

As well as she did.

"You need anything?" she asked, out of automatic habit.

He shook his head. "Might need to borrow a spare toothbrush in the morning if you've got one, but otherwise, I'm good."

"Okay," she said. After a moment's hesitation, she turned to head for her room.

"Hey, Leia," Alvin called behind her, already sounding on the edge of sleep.

She turned back. He'd laid himself out on the too-short couch, hands behind his head to cushion it on one armrest and feet crossed and propped up on the other. His eyes were closed.

"Sweet dreams," he said.

She huffed a laugh. "You too."

Somehow, she felt sure they would be, after years of mundane but relentless nightmares. At last, she was beginning to leave the war behind her.

Perhaps he'd come with her, if she asked.

**X**


	2. SPICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, the horny version.

They stumbled into Leia's apartment together, laughing drunk, Alvin's arm around Leia's waist.

It was frighteningly late at night, well into the strange hours that were neither truly night nor morning but the violet hours between. Everything felt a little askew from true, as if those hours were set aside from the rest of reality, and tomorrow would not come until they fell asleep.

With twin sighs of relief, they collapsed onto her pillowy couch, leaning against each other out of comfortable habit.

He reached up and ruffled her hair.

She made a muffled sound of protest and elbowed him ineffectively. "What was that for?" she mumbled.

Alvin shrugged. "Dunno, just felt like it."

Leia had a little further to reach, but she managed it, ruffling his hair twice as hard as he had hers.

To her surprise, rather than laughing or protesting, he ducked his head to submit to it and shivered a little. Curiosity and drunkenness made her keep going a little longer than he had with her, and then a little longer yet when he leaned into her and made a low, happy sound in his chest.

"You like head scritches? Like a kitty? Bit big for a kitty cat—"

"Nyaa," he said, tilting over so that his head landed in her lap.

Startled, she paused for a moment, until he dug his fingernails into her knee just like Rollo liked to do. Laughing, she sank her fingers back into his hair, stroking it and the edges of his ears. She enjoyed his subtle squirming as she ministered to him, knowing more than most how rare it was to be so trusted with even the smallest of Alvin's weak points.

Suddenly, he turned around, pulling his knees up on the couch and pressing his face into her belly.

She realized, a moment later, that his mouth was pressed against the scar he had made on her during their first journey together. It was her turn to shiver.

"Does it still hurt?" he mumbled against her, forearms finding their way around her waist.

For a moment, she said nothing, running her fingers through his hair instead. It was a difficult question. The answer was really both yes and no, but she was too drunk and too tired to explain the whole of her feelings to him. "It hurts to remember," she said finally, which was as close as she could get in just a few words.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately.

She shrugged one shoulder. "I know. We're good now. It's not—"

Her voice stuttered to a halt as she realized that he had lifted her shirt to the bottom of her ribs, and that his apology had whispered across her bare skin.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, then pressed his mouth to the scar directly, laving it with his tongue as if seeking to wash it away.

She sucked in a slow, hard breath, and curled over his head, hand pulling him harder against her without her conscious will. It felt... so good. Warm and wonderful. Intimate.

It was becoming hard to ignore how long it had been since she had last paid any attention to certain yearnings within her, constant companions she never seemed to have time for, between her career and how often the world apparently needed her to save it. These hours didn't properly exist, though, and so there seemed to be less reason than usual for her to disregard them.

But... Alvin? She trusted him, now, again. He'd earned that. She liked him, cared about him, and considering the fact that she had forgiven him for literally attempting to murder her, probably even loved him at least a little. This hadn't been on the table before, though, and she thought she ought to take a moment to figure out how she felt about it.

Or, she could slide her hand down the back of his shirt to feel the strong ridge of his spine, and sweep her thumb along the curve of his nape on the way.

Alvin gasped and shuddered, his breath hot against her belly.

She'd think about it in the morning, if there was thinking to be done. For now, she was fairly clear on what she wanted, and couldn't seem to think of any reason why she shouldn't have it.

"Alvin," she murmured, caressing the line of his neck to the top of spine again just to feel him jerk and shiver against her. "If you want to go further, I'm up for it."

He turned his head to look up at her, eyes unfocussed with booze and desire and a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. "Leia, are you sure?"

In response, she pushed his shoulder until he lay on his back, face up. Before he could say anything about it, then, she descended on him with a kiss that was almost a devouring.

Alvin went still for a moment, startled stiff, then surged up against her, dragging her down into him with a hunger to match her own.

She fought to invade him, and he pressed her back, tangling with her and driving back into her mouth, tit for tat. Lightly, she bit his tongue to chastise him, and felt him go taut with the tension of his restraint beneath her.

Leia didn't want restraint. It was what had kept her back from every other person she had been interested in thus far; their insistence on keeping her at arm's length so that she couldn't even try for their hearts. She was not in the mood for it now, not from him, not after what he'd done to her scar.

Seizing fistfuls of his hair, she extricated her legs and swung over him into a straddle, then pushed him down beneath her. He was twice her size, or close enough, but she paid no heed to that. She'd grown up sparring with people who were much bigger than her, and she'd fought the gods themselves. Alvin didn't seem so big compared to everything else that had ever threatened her in her life.

He went down without protest, shutting his eyes tight as his brows drew together and then up. That expression was one she'd seen before, on patients who had just received their pain medication. Desperate relief, hunger for more.

Her own brows rose as she realized, abruptly, what it was that he was starving for.

Leaning down, she gave him a demanding kiss, then whispered in his ear. _Get up._

Drunk as she was, her body seemed strangely cooperative as she lithely twisted off of him to stand and wait. He had a great deal of trouble standing up, and a good chunk of that had to do with what was going on in his dark trousers. Following Trigleph fashion, they were fairly form-fitting, and therefore didn't have much room to accommodate his arousal.

For a few moments, she stood in silence, deliberating. Alvin trembled.

Finally, she decided how she wanted to go on, and gave him a cheery smile that was full of razors. Not malice, precisely; she didn't intend to actually hurt him in any way. She sure was looking forward to giving him what he was asking her for here, though, and that required a certain pleasure in the idea of his pain.

She'd never figured herself for a sadist, but maybe that was just because she'd never had anyone submit to her so plainly as this before. That was really what was doing it for her; not that she could hurt him, now, if she wanted to, but that _he_ wanted her to.

"Strip," she ordered him.

His eyes were full of smoke and flame, but not anger. She'd guessed right. Slowly, but without apparent shame, he set about making himself further vulnerable. Each article he removed, he lay untidily on the arm of the couch, until he was standing naked before her. His eyes rose from the floor to hers, mutely pleading.

Feeling the power in being fully dressed still, Leia tilted her head and gave him a searing once-over with her eyes, taking her time about it.

Alvin wasn't given to blushing, but she saw his shoulders draw in and his hands tighten as he forced himself to stand still under her assessing gaze.

He had muscle aplenty, as was to be expected considering his various lines of work, but his abdomen also carried a soft layer of fat. That made him seem more vulnerable too, somehow. Softness where she had expected none.

His cock stood hard and yearning against his belly, nestled in a dense brown mat of hair. She didn't really know what average looked like, but his looked proportional to the rest of him, neither too small nor overlarge. It looked sensitive, almost fragile, easily harmed even by accident. Another unexpected vulnerability.

"Come on in, then," she said after she'd had her fill, and gestured for him to follow her into her bedroom.

It was a fairly simple affair, at its roots; a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, a chest. Most every free inch of that, however, was covered with bits of paper and photographs, sometimes taped in place and sometimes scattered with only the vaguest hint of organization. She knew where everything was, of course. Each area corresponded to an active project, and every contact and quote and slip of evidence was arranged in a logical manner around their centres. It only looked like scribbled chaos if one was not the scribbler.

Alvin stared around for a moment, a faint fond grin twitching around the corners of his mouth, then trained his eyes on the floor to await her next instructions.

Leia, enjoying her new dominance, sat down on the edge of the bed and pointed at the floor between her feet.

Alvin understood the order, and went to his knees with a flex of his powerful thigh muscles. He slid his hands up the backs of her calves, tracing the definition of her own musculature. They were both fighters, and whatever extra weight they might carry around — like Alvin's little paunch — they were strong underneath.

He pressed a kiss to her left knee, then her right, and she was just ticklish enough for that to make her jerk and tense.

She only got more ticklish as he proceeded upwards and inwards along her thighs, and she accidentally clasped his head between her flexing legs a couple of times while fighting to hold herself still. He didn't seem to mind; if anything, each chokehold made his eyelids drop to heavy, sensuous half-mast.

If only she had some rope. He would make that expression more if she could bind him tighter, she felt sure, and she wanted to see it.

When he finally ascended to the apex, tentatively flicking his tongue against her, she raised her legs to rest on his shoulders, heels digging into his back, and pulled him hard inward. Thus trapped and bound, he had only the job to focus on, and he set to with silent enthusiasm.

Moaning through her clenched teeth, Leia tipped over backward onto her bed, pushing her hips down further against him. Her climax came and squeezed a strangled cry out of her. Her apartment walls were thin; she could only hope they weren't thin enough for that to carry to her neighbours, because she'd never be able to look them in the eye again.

Relaxing into boneless lassitude, she let Alvin go, and he sat back on his heels, looking wickedly pleased with himself.

"Get up here," she said in a voice that was at least half moan, reaching limply for him with one hand.

Obediently, he rose and knelt on the bed with one knee, then paused and waited.

Her brain wasn't working all that well, but she did remember what she'd meant to do. "Lie down on your back," she instructed. "Hands under you in the small of your back. Pretend they're tied; don't bring them out for anything."

Tension thrumming through him like a struck harp-string, he did as ordered, sliding his hands behind himself into the hollow of his spine. Doing so pushed his chest up a little, a little awkwardly. He really did look a bit tied up.

Leia pressed her legs together, feeling herself recovering from her first orgasm with eager speed. There were definitely perks to having her sort of equipment.

She clambered over him until she was straddling his belly, her wetness slicking his treasure trail. He watched her arranging herself, half-closed eyes burning with intensity. The muscles in his arms shifted, and she watched him suppress the desire to take his hands out and touch her.

It amazed her a little how obedient he was, how happy to carry out her every order. In his public life, he was... passive, sometimes, but never _submissive._ He did what he wanted, and did it quietly if he thought anyone might try to make it difficult for him. Not a leader of men, not charismatic like Gaius and Marcia, but hard to deter or sway. It was like he had become someone else entirely under her hands.

She liked this person a lot.

"No hands," she reminded him, even though she knew he was thinking about nothing else. "Hold still."

Sliding down, leaving a trail of dampness, she raised herself up just far enough, then sank down onto his cock.

His hips jerked, driving him up into her, and she gasped. His hands were still clenched behind his back, but evidently focusing on keeping them there meant he didn't have enough focus left over to school the rest of himself to stillness.

Leia rode him back down, then lifted herself up again, savouring the slow, hard slide of him leaving her.

Closing his eyes tightly, he pulled his lower lip in between his teeth, gnawed it as he fought for self-control. Sweat was already beading on his forehead and chest. She could smell him, heady and masculine, over the scent of her laundry detergent on the bedding.

Leaning over him so that her small but nicely shaped breasts were right in front of his clearly appreciative eyes, she began to move in earnest, devouring him over and over again while he lay helpless and ecstatic beneath her.

Carefully, she wove a small spirit arte inside herself that every Rieze Maxian girl learned when she reached a certain age. Boys learned their own variant, as well, and were encouraged to use it. That way, even if one forgot — or chose not to do their part — the other could protect themselves.

She was sure Alvin would have his up and running already, being more experienced than her and extremely interested in never causing her any harm ever again. It couldn't hurt to be careful, though, just in case.

Moaning, she let her head fall back over her curving spine, her abdomen and thighs pulsing in tandem to move her hips while her head stayed steady. She was dizzy with the drink and desire, and it helped.

"Leia," Alvin groaned. "I'm—"

"It's fine," she told him, looking down to meet his eyes.

He looked an absolute mess, she was pleased to note. He was damp with sweat, trembling, and the muscles of his arms strained against his self-imposed bondage. His expression was something graceless between torment and transport, a grimace of pleasure. His eyes were barely open, but she saw him understand before he shut them the rest of the way and his whole face seemed to collapse around them.

Her face at her climax probably wasn't any more elegant than his, so she couldn't tease him for it, which was too bad. That would have been

_fun—_

The pulsing contractions of her climax seemed to go on for ages, a new spill of tingling nerves going off every time she thought she was through it.

"Can I use my hands now?" he asked, hoarse and ragged.

"Hmm," she said. "Well, you did a good job keeping them to yourself, so yes, you may."

With a sharp sigh of relief, he pulled them out from behind his back. His weight had made red marks on his forearms where they had crossed beneath him, and his fingernails had left little marks on his palms. She caught them as he reached for her, examining the marks.

"Too bad these won't last," she said.

When he stiffened, she realized what he'd assumed and shook her head. "No, I don't mean it like that. I don't want to give you scars as payback. I just feel like it would be... nice, somehow, to leave some mark of myself on you because of something good. I mean, unless you hated this."

Alvin vigorously demurred. "I get that," he said. "I just assumed the other thing because of how this got started, but truth be told... Presa gave me some of my scars, and not all of them were because of fighting. I have a type, I guess." He grinned ruefully.

She thought about scolding him for talking about another woman while he was with her, but realized she didn't actually mind. He never talked about Presa, or about anything that had wounded him on the inside. Talking about Presa with her was a gesture of trust and vulnerability, and exactly what she wanted more of out of him, not less.

"Then maybe I could give you one or two another time," she offered carefully, not actually having any idea whether or not he was interested in going again, ever. "No pressure."

Freeing his hands from her grip, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. After a long moment of that, he lifted his head and said "I'd love that, Leia," into her ear.

She shivered, despite how wrung out she felt. Her indefatigable nethers stirred slightly with renewed interest.

"Cool," she said unsteadily. "Uh, out of curiosity... how tired are you?"

He said nothing, but she felt his smile against the wall of her throat, and grinned.

**X**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus tidbit from the unfortunately unworkable third attempt:
> 
> _"Seriously," she said. "Healed up fine, thanks to Jude and Dr. Mathis. I wouldn't even have the scar if I hadn't—" She closed her mouth abruptly on the last few words, but not in time._
> 
> _Alvin looked up at her, frowning. "If you hadn't what?"_
> 
> _"Asked to keep it," she answered, cringing. "Look, it's not what you think, okay?"_
> 
> _He looked shattered anyway, and she kicked herself. They did have things to talk about, things to work out, but this wasn't how she'd meant to do it. Not like this._
> 
> _"Oh, really?" he said, so softly she almost didn't hear him. "What do you think I think it is?"_
> 
> _"I don't know, a weapon?" she said, helpless and red-faced. "Something to make you feel guilty about when I need to manipulate you? A reminder that I shouldn't trust you? I don't actually know what you're thinking, but those are my best guesses."_
> 
> _He shrugged, wincing slightly. "Not too far off the mark, actually."_
> 
> _"Then I reiterate," she said stoutly. "It's not what you think. It is a reminder, but not... like that. It's a reminder to myself of... what we've all been through. What we survived. I got shot by someone I thought was an ally, and I survived it, and went on to trust him with my life. Things... change, sometimes unexpectedly, and I shouldn't be surprised. Something like that. I guess. Look, I'm too drunk for this, can we talk about it some other time?"_
> 
> _Alvin looked up at her for a long, long moment, brown eyes deep and considering. Then he pulled her closer to him by her waist and pressed his mouth to the scar._
> 
> \--
> 
> Listen I just _really_ wanted Alvin to kiss the scar he gave Leia, okay? Okay.


End file.
